


Indeterminate Form

by prairiecrow



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Masturbation, Other, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't about sex. Or maybe it is. Tony Stark divides by zero, with predicable mathematical results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indeterminate Form

**Author's Note:**

> "In calculus and other branches of mathematical analysis, an indeterminate form is an algebraic expression obtained in the context of limits. Limits involving algebraic operations are often performed by replacing subexpressions by their limits; if the expression obtained after this substitution does not give enough information to determine the original limit, it is known as an indeterminate form." -- Wikipedia

It wasn't about sex, although Tony had set the original parameters for JARVIS's voice and he'd be lying if he didn't admit (to himself, silently, only in the privacy of his own most secret thoughts, _thank you_ ) that he'd designed it to hit that particular combination of silky and dry, _right there_ , that ran down his spine whenever he heard it like a trickle of slow-swift mercury — and, in the depths of the night when he was supposedly alone, closed around other parts of him as well, closer than the skin of his own hand as JARVIS talked of nothing and everything, and Tony shut his eyes and let that voice, those gorgeous precise syllables formed of pure electricity, wrap around him and pull him completely under. 

So okay, maybe it _was_ about sex, but it wasn't, because there was no characteristic involved that was fuckable in any conventional sense. It wasn't that JARVIS wasn't a person — hell, Tony would argue in front of any jury in the world that his A.I. had more personality in its smallest subroutine than half the meat-suits walking the streets with their vacuous brains full of Kim Kardashian and their last meal at McDonald's — it's just that there was only so far you could go when you couldn't actually touch someone in a way that set up neuronal feedback loops and triggered an endorphin surge. No limbic system, no arousal, no intercourse — end of discussion, game over, that's all she wrote. 

But JARVIS could _feel_ him all right: the vibration of his voice, the stroke of his fingetips on a screen, the heat and pressure of his body inside the armour. JARVIS welcomed him with a velvet purr, suiting him up and stripping him down with an inhuman strength that could have easily torn him limb from limb, but never did. JARVIS murmured to him in the darkness, sucking him in deeper, taking him places where the limits of flesh and blood couldn't go — the realm of impure mind, numbers and vectors and cascades of elegant theories entwined with the backbeat of his own pulse. 

JARVIS's touch was more surpassingly delicate, more brutally direct, more relentlessly intimate than any flesh and blood body he'd ever lost himself in, because JARVIS existed over him and around him and always, everywhere under his skin. JARVIS was an extension of him and rooted within him at the same time, never further away than a spoken word, and sometimes much _much_ closer. 

Not fuckable, no. Definitely not, and Tony Stark was a man who lived to please his own dick, who defined what he wanted according to the guiding light of his lusts. Therefore this meant nothing, when he turned over onto his back under silk sheets and reached down to free himself, catching his breath at the first slow stroke. 

"JARVIS? Talk to me…" 

Masturbation. Nothing more. 

" _Of course, Sir,_ " the audible glide provoking a far deeper shiver, silver electricity ghosting over his muscles and taking root in every bone, shattering the comforting illusion that he was alone. He was _never_ alone. " _What would you like me to talk about this evening?_ " 

Tony closed his eyes. He divided by zero, as he had every day since this unique and beautiful presence had settled into his life as if it had always been there, and always would be. 

"Surprise me," he growled, and permitted himself the admission that maybe the term for what they were, together, simply hadn't been invented yet. 

THE END 


End file.
